


Christmas Before Last

by Kahvi



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 22:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13258077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi
Summary: It's two Christmases after the Christmas before last, and everything is changing for Arthur. One familiar face might bring a little bit of solace, but, well... it's complicated.





	Christmas Before Last

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpaceQueer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceQueer/gifts).



> A very belated Secret Santa gift - with apologies in advance for any typos or inconsistencies. I've been quite ill recently, and I'm not sure who or where I am at the moment. I'm fairly sure I'm not Arthur Shappey, but I wouldn't mind being! Hope your holidays have been happy, and may all your gentlemen be getting dressed!

Time flies when you’re having fun, so Arthur supposed it made sense that when you were actually flying, it went by even faster. Being nearly forty wasn’t all that different from being nearly thirty, in fact, when he wasn’t thinking about it, Arthur quite often forgot how old he was, which would have shocked his younger-birthday-obsessed self. Not that he didn’t still enjoy his birthdays, it was just, he no longer cared so much about which one of them it was. Mum’s birthday was coming up, which was something of a bigger deal this year, and one of the reasons why she’d reluctantly agreed to do the thing that now had Arthur ringing ‘round to everyone. 

It helped, not calling it a birthday party. Of course, they couldn’t call it a retirement party either, but Arthur had come up with ‘good luck in Swindon,’ which had been deemed acceptable, and made more sense if you knew that this was where Carolyn would be moving with Herc later this month. Douglas hadn’t known, which is why Arthur was only just now, near the end of the conversation, getting to the actual details of the party. 

“Frankly, I’m surprised she’s actually going through with it. Do you think it’ll stick this time?”

“I think it’ll have to; she’s signing everything over to me.”

For a moment, Arthur though there was something wrong with his phone. He’d never heard Douglas dumbfounded before. “That’s fairly sticky.”

“I know what you mean, though. That’s why Herc suggested she do it at the party, you know, like a little ceremony.” 

“And she agreed?” 

“In her normal voice and everything.” 

“Her normal voice, or her everything is normal voice?”

“First one.”

There was awe in Douglas’s voice. “Well. I’ll be there, of course,” he added. 

“Brilliant! It’s at eight, so you should have plenty of time to get there from Fitton.”

“Why would I be in Fitton?”

“You know, coming back from Brno.”

“Ooooh.” 

Arthur knew that tone of voice. That was the same tone Douglas used when discovering something particularly ominous about… well… anything. “Douglas?”

“Yes?”

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you know something I don’t, and you’re worried about telling me.”

“Arthur, that applies to virtually every conversation anyone ever has with you.” 

“Douglas!” 

“All right.” He sighed. Oh dear. Douglas sighing was usually bad. “I’m not doing the Brno flight.” 

“But the wall planner-” 

“Lies, I’m afraid. Well known fact. Look, you know I only work part time now because of my back. I’ve got physical therapy that Friday.” 

“Oh no.” This was worse than he’d thought. Arthur looked over his shoulder at the planner, as though it could do anything about the situation. “Susan asked for that Friday off; she’s got tickets to the Hamilton revival in New York. She’s not back until late afternoon.”

“Well, not to worry; Herc can do that one on his own. He’s leaving soon anyway, he won’t mind-”

“No, you don’t understand: You were on the planner, so I thought it would be OK for Susan to be taken off, because Herc could join. But Herc driving to Swindon to get the keys and sign papers and things for his and Mum’s new flat.”

“Can’t Carolyn do that?” 

“No, she’s in Denmark; her nephew’s moved there.”

“God, the awful one?” 

“I think that’s the only one there is.” 

“Much like your current options: You’ll have to cancel the flight.” 

Arthur jumped, scaring Sally, Susan’s persian cat, whom he’d agreed to look after while she was away. “I can’t do that; everything’s already paid for.” And he’d spent that money on things. Oh god, was this what it felt like to be mum? 

“I’m sorry, but much as I’d like to, I just can’t fly again so soon after that return trip to Hong Kong; Derek tells me I’m pushing it as it is.”

“Derek?”

“My physical therapist. He’s the only man I’ve met who can see right through me, I haven’t decided if it’s more annoying or impressive.”

“What about mum?”

“I said ‘man’, didn’t I?” His voice mellowed. Sally, having realized the world was not, as she’d previously been lead to believe, about to end just this minute, had sidled up to Arthur and was quietly rubbing up against his legs. “Look, you’ll figure something out. Carolyn wouldn’t have left you in charge if she didn’t know you could handle things.” 

“Yeah. I’m sure you’re right.” He wasn’t. “It’ll be fine.” It wouldn’t. “See you later, Douglas.” All right, that one was probably OK. 

Putting his phone back in his pocket, Arthur tried not to panic. It was slightly harder to panic when you had a cat wound around your ankles, which he made a mental note of. This was terrible! Shouldn’t he have let Susan take the time off, because she was supposed to be filling in for Douglas? But she had those tickets, and it was the original cast for two weeks only, and she’d booked it months in advance… but only told him three days ago, granted. Still! And Douglas couldn’t help having a bad back, and he probably couldn’t change that appointment, could he? And Herc had important things to do, and how was Arthur supposed to be the arbiter of any of this? Mum always just knew. She’d mostly just tell everyone to buck up and come back to work, but she always knew if something was really serious. 

How the hell was Arthur supposed to know? How could he possibly make everyone happy, when they all wanted things that made the others unhappy! 

From somewhere near his shoes, Sally gave a pensive “mrrrwl”. 

“You’re right,” Arthur said, grimly. There was one thing he could do, though he hated having to. Finishing out his phone again, he dialed a different number. Then waited. He sat down; he wasn’t sure he could deal with this standing up. 

“Martin speaking, hello?”

Maybe it really would be all right, Arthur desperately thought to himself as he carefully made the drive up to Heathrow’s terminal 5. After all, it was nearly two years ago that what happened, well… happened, and it’s not like Martin had even noticed, anyway. 

Oh no, now he was thinking about it. He really shouldn’t be thinking about it, not when Martin would be in his car in less than twenty minutes! But it was too late, just like how you couldn’t stop thinking about invisible unicorns - or was that something different? Arthur parked in the first available spot, just so he could sit for a moment and just let the memory play out - better in than out, after all. Though it was still in his head, so he wasn’t sure how that would work. He leaned the head in question on the steering wheel, and remembered…

 

...It was Christmas. Actual Christmas, not just the time before and after that people tend to call Christmas anyway, but actual, actual Christmas. Not morning, to be fair, but Christmas eve, at mum’s. Arthur was still living there, as they soon realized it would be far more convenient for her to move in with Herc, than for Arthur to go through the process of flat shopping. Herc’s flat was a little smaller, but fine for the time being. 

Quite exactly whose idea the party had been, was unclear; Arthur was usually the prime suspect when it came to these things, but mum had been unusually sentimental lately. However it had come about, everyone from MJN and OJN were there, even newly hired relief pilot Susan. Arthur had, however, been the one tasked with calling ‘round and and invite everyone. He was good at that, and he liked to keep doing the things he knew without a doubt that he was good at. He’d left Martin for last, because… well, he was never quite sure how to talk to Martin. 

The plain fact of it was, Arthur liked Martin. Liked him a little more than he probably should, given that Martin had a partner and a job in Switzerland, and that they weren’t very likely to see one another more than perhaps once a year. That wasn’t the sort of foundation on which you could build a relationship, not that Martin would be even remotely interested in one of those. But, well, Arthur never had to think that far, because conveniently, the girlfriend and the distance made it all so unlikely to begin with. 

He’d probably always liked Martin. He’d really only ever gone out with girls, but that was partly because he’d known what would happen if he’d brought home a Stephen rather than a Stephanie when dad was still around. After he’d gone, Arthur had sort of gotten into the habit. As mum put it, he seemed to attract a certain sort of girl, and he certainly didn’t seem to attract any sorts of men, especially not the ones in Fitton’s single gay bar - as in singular, not relationship status indicator for the patrons, though both were probably equally accurate. Martin, on the other hand, attracted all sorts of people without even being aware of it. And it was fun to pretend. 

He’d finally built up the courage to call, and was desperate to just get through it, but he had to go through the motions and ask about things, and that’s when it happened: 

“How’s Theresa,” Arthur had asked, and Martin had gone a little quiet before saying, like it was just a bit of boring local news: 

“Oh, you didn’t know. Sorry, we’re not together anymore.”

“You’re not?” He’d had to get an extra grip on his phone. Thankfully, his voice held. 

“No, not for years now. It’s all amicable; to tell you the truth, I wanted kids, and she didn’t.” I want kids, Arthur thought, as loudly as he could. “We’re both glad we talked about it at such an early stage; before we got, you know, married or anything like that.” 

“Right,” Arthur had said, and stammered through the rest of the conversation in a blur. 

He knew it wouldn’t come to anything. Obviously it wouldn’t come to anything, but in a way that didn’t matter, because this was as close as it would ever get. Just the thought of standing next to Martin and talking to him like they used to back when he was Skip… and knowing that, even technically, there was a chance! Arthur was different now… well, not that different, but he was better at talking to people, and he’d sorted out how he felt about Martin, and all he could think about was what just might possibly… 

Of course, it ended in disaster. Arthur had gone to get a proper haircut, not just a quick back and sides like he used to get at the local barber, but a high street - in as much as Fitton had a high street - job, with that waxy gunk in it that made it all sort of swirly in the right places. He’d bought a new suit, mostly because all his old suits had the OJN logo on them somewhere, and that just felt wrong, and he’d found some of dad’s old cufflinks, which felt a bit wrong too, but mum said he looked smart. He knew what she’d meant, but it still made him feel just a little less hapless, if just for one night. He’d brushed his teeth so many times his gums started bleeding. He’d even flossed. He’d managed not to faint when Martin came up to greet him, and he’d avoided an overly affectionate hug. 

They had whiskey (Arthur’s watered out, a little; he still struggled with alcohol). They’d chatted so easily. Martin had seemed genuinely impressed, and kept touching Arthur’s shoulder, his elbow, and there were wrinkles around his eyes that hadn’t been there before, but made his eyes look even more striking. Teal, rather than blue green, in this light, and narrowing a little when Arthur said something he’d clearly liked. 

“I like what you’ve done with your hair,” Martin said, and Arthur wanted to crawl inside those words and make a little nest. 

“Thanks,” he said. They were leaning towards one another, heads inclined to keep out the noise of the rest of the party. Their shoes were touching. 

“I never know what to do with mine.”

“I think it’s brilliant.”

Martin laughed. He never used to do that, not all soft and comfortable. “Thank you. I’ll tell Lisa you said that. She fusses over it to no end.” 

“Who’s Lisa?”

“My girlfriend. Didn’t I mention that? Theresa and I split up a while back.” 

Arthur stopped watering his whiskey after that, and the rest of the night remained as nothing but vague impressions of people and toasts and left over cheese trays repurposed as snacks. He was fairly sure he didn’t throw up or make any sort of lasting mess, but he did remember mum asking if he was all right. He doesn’t remember what he said in reply. 

There was a quick tap at the car’s window, and Arthur snapped back into his seat. 

“Sorry,” came Martin’s muffled voice, “did I wake you?”

 

“Thanks again for doing this; you’re honestly a lifesaver.”

Martin eased himself into GERTI’s pilot seat, and for a moment, his eyes closed. “Oh no, don’t thank me for it; I’m glad I got the chance to come back and say hi to the old girl.” He looked up at Arthur with an odd sort of grin. “You never forget your first.”

“GERTI was the first plane you flew?” That was impressive; how had he managed to get a pilot’s licence without getting in a plane? Maybe that was why he’d failed it so many times? 

“I’m just being silly; I meant my first job. But you’re right, it doesn’t really work.” He ran his hands over the flight controls. “Unlike this classy lady.”

“You’ve never called her that before, Skip.” They both started at the name. Arthur shrugged. “You’re the skipper today.” 

“That I am.” 

“I’m surprised you had the time, honestly.” 

“I take a lot of extra shifts, I was due some time off anyway. And I promised, didn’t I? If you ever needed help, for any reason, I’d do my best to comply. Let’s hope Swiss Air doesn’t have an emergency too, and I have to turn ‘round mid-flight.”

“Erm…” 

“Only joking. Sorry, not a very good one. I’m not doing all that well today, joke-wise.” He was so relaxed. Even his hair was less frizzy than usual, a little on the long side, not a trace of grey. Maybe it was a ginger thing; Arthur’s aunt had been ginger, and still was, at the age of 99. 

“It’s all right. I’m just glad you’re here. I mean, because it would have cost mum, I mean, erm, me a lot of money if I couldn’t find anyone.”

Martin shook his head. “It’s still hard to imagine. Arthur Shappey, CEO!” He caught himself, eyes wide, “I don’t mean you’re not capable… o… or... “ 

“I’m not sure if I’m capable. Mum is though, and she’s smarter than me.”

Martin didn’t say anything to that, but started doing the pre-flight checks, and Arthur, because he couldn’t think of anything else to do, and you do tend to fall into patterns, in life, started making coffee. 

 

Their passengers, when they eventually arrived, turned out to be a young couple who kept to themselves at the back of the cabin. After the second time Arthur tried to offer them drinks only to have to turn around half way when he saw that they were otherwise engaged, he escaped into the cockpit. 

Escaped might have been entirely the wrong word, he realized, when Martin turned to smile at him, questioningly. 

“Would you like-”

“You’ve already made me three coffees; I think I’m fine.”

“Right.” 

“Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you look like you’re afraid I’m going to throw you out the emergency exit?” 

“I…”

“Come have a seat.”

“But… that’s the co-pilot’s seat.”

Martin shrugged. Shrugged. “What did Carolyn use to say? We have a safe pilot and a good pilot, and the safe pilot is in charge of the good pilot.”

“Yes, but I’m not a pilot at all.” He was in the chair. How did that happen? 

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? You’ve been avoiding me all day, which is actually quite impressive, given that we’ve spent most of it locked inside vehicles. One of which you were driving.”

Don’t do this, don’t do this, don’t do this. “You’ve changed.” It wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but clearly what he’d meant to say would be worse. 

“In a… good way?” 

“In a…” Arthur tried to feel his way into an appropriate word. It didn’t work. “Way?” He suggested. “You’re calmer. More relaxed, sort of.”

“I suppose I have fewer things to be stressed about.”

“And you, erm…”

“I think you’d better just say it, or we’ll have to take the Halvorsens on another round trip.” 

“You don’t seem to mind talking to me. As much.”

Martin frowned. “So you’re avoiding me because I like talking to you?”

“No!” Arthur twisted around in the chair. There was a stupid sunset out there, all gorgeous and perfect, and he wasn’t even wearing a good suit, this time. And Martin had a girlfriend, and everything was wonderful and wrong all at the same time. 

He felt light pressure on his arm, like mum, when he was little, and there was turbulence coming. Arthur liked it when there was turbulence, but she hadn’t known, then. He was about to turn around to apologize, but when he did, Martin’s face was way too close. Then they were kissing. 

 

Arthur couldn’t think too much about what kissing Martin was like, because if he did, it might stop happening. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt logical. Martin kissing him made no sense, after all, so it was probably just a mistake, and would stop soon. 

Except that was a tongue, slipping just past his lips, and he was being pressed back against the seat, and really, should he be the one thinking about flight security? “You have a girlfriend,” he tried to say, but it sounded like strawberries. 

“Sorry…” Martin pulled back. His eyes were darker, skin a little redder, and his neck throbbed a little where his pulse point must be. Arthur was terrible at taking someone’s pulse. “What was that?” 

“You have a girlfriend,” Arthur breathed. 

“I do?”

“Yes!”

“Arthur… no. Didn’t I tell you; Theresa and I split up years ago.”

“Not her; Lisa!” 

“Who’s Lisa?”

“Your girlfriend! You came here, and everything was great, and you smelled like pine needles and really posh brandy, and you told me you were seeing this girl called Lisa!” 

Martin’s face had gone from flushed to puzzled. He fumbled at his tie, trying either to loosen or tighten it. “When was this?”

“Christmas before last!” 

“I don’t… oh, Lisa!” 

“Yes!” 

To Arthur’s considerable consternation, Martin was laughing. “We only went out a few times; she was Flight Controller, so we rarely had time. That’s why it petered out, really. It wasn’t anything serious.” 

“How was I supposed to know?”

“You could have asked! I had no idea why you just grew cold on me; I thought it was something I’d said.”

“It was.”

“Fair point.” 

They sat in silence for a good, long while. The sunset was still going, as if to prove a point. “What are we going to do now, then?” 

“I think,” Martin said, a keen eye on the instruments. “That we had better start by landing this plane.”

 

“I’m here now. I’ll let you know.” Douglas pressed the button on his phone to hang up, wishing, not for the first time, that there was some more dramatic way of doing it. Carolyn had made him go all the way to the airfield to check on Arthur, a thing he hoped would not become a regular occurrence. One could make the argument that he was no longer under her employ, but no one would be likely to make that particular argument to Carolyn. 

GERTI was parked, and getting access might have been a problem for anyone other than Douglas Richardson. Fortunately, he was still himself, back injury notwithstanding, and soon he was opening the rear cabin door. “Hullo?”

No answer. That was rather odd; they had to still be in here. Casting his mind about for improvised weapons, Douglas slowly moved his way up the aisle. It being rather a short aisle, it didn’t take him many steps to reach the kitchenette. He pulled the curtain aside…

Oh. He paused for a moment, just to assure himself that the sounds he’d heard really were coming from the supply closet. Well, he mused, Arthur had fit in there before, and there really wasn’t all that much heft to Martin. It was certainly doable, though not at all something on which he was happy to dwell. As softly as he could manage, he stepped backwards, waiting until he was safely deplaned before ringing Carolyn back.

As the phone rang, he wondered, idly, if she would consider their old bet still being on. He could do with a bit of extra cash over Christmas.


End file.
